


Cupid's Got a Shotgun

by didsomeonesaybioshock



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fallout, Blood, Death, Divorce, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Grief/Mourning, History, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Sassy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:38:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7589230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/didsomeonesaybioshock/pseuds/didsomeonesaybioshock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annabelle Hatcher, a pre-war historian, awakens from inside a cryo-chamber and finds herself nearly two hundred years out of her time. With nothing but a blue jumpsuit, a tattered backpack and her unyielding knowledge, Annabelle must find a place in the new world she's found herself in. That is, if she can stay alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Annabelle had never run so fast in her entire life.

A continuous blast of the cool Boston breeze whipped fiercely into her skin, her locks of light blonde hair waving wildly around her heart-shaped face as she bolted across a near-decomposing bridge and into the desolate ruins towering above her. She had absolutely  _ no  _ idea where she was or where she was going (the once extravagant skyscrapers lining the downtown Boston area all looked so similar when they were over two hundred years old), but she knew she was heading into the near heart of the city, where hopefully there were sane people that  _ weren’t trying to kill her.  _ A bullet wizzed less than an inch from her cheek, her head snapping around to catch sight of the same group of lunatic cult-members that had been following her for damn near a mile and a half now.  _ Thank God for being the Fenway High track star.  _ She weaved through a chaotic string of abandoned vehicles and a few human remains, trying not to think about  _ how long  _ their bodies may have been lying there. 

Her legs had gone numb long ago, the adrenaline moving through her veins and the very real threat of death chasing after her offering ample encouragement. Hell, she’d felt numb since the moment she tumbled out of the cryo chamber two weeks prior. They had told them it was for decontamination purposes; a precaution just in case any radiation had found it’s way onto their bodies.  _ It’s for the safety of the vault; for the safety of  _ you. The Vault-Tec employee had explained, motioning towards an empty cell and helping her step inside. How the hell was she supposed to know they planned on turning them into human icicles for almost two centuries? She was a historian, not a scientist. Maybe if the truth had been written on the chamber in hieroglyphics she’d have been able to decipher it. Maybe. 

As far as she knew, no one had walked out of that radiation bunker alive besides her. Not that she spent much time trying to figure it out. The moment the door had lifted to the claustrophobic container she had been trapped in she wasted no time in retreating to the surface, nearly crushing a functional Pip-Boy as she fled the iron-walled prison. She had heard about these hand-held computers on television but never actually had seen one in person before. The device felt heavy on her slim wrist but proved useful when she discovered the only way to release the industrial-sized vault door was by hooking the computer to the manual door control. She was slightly curious as to what features the Pip-Boy had but decided to ask questions  _ after  _ she found a safe place to settle for a brief while, taking off in the direction of Sanctuary Hills to inspect the damage of her home.

From within the black and grey pack slung on her back came a high-pitched whimper, her furry friend clearly frightened by the rapid movements shaking the leather walls around him. Of course, she had not been alone in the icy cavity; her three month old Golden Retriever had come along for the ride, stowed away in the confides of her backpack before she had followed her neighbors toward the vault entrance. They had advised to leave most personal items behind,  _ especially _ animals, but didn’t bother to search her belongings upon her arrival to the vault. She still didn’t know how in the hell her hyper-active and extremely vocal pooch had managed to stay quiet throughout the events leading up to their freeze but she was eternally thankful that he had, else she would be completely alone in this god forsaken wasteland. 

And now, here she was, sprinting away from a gang of psychotic murderers in nothing but a tight blue jumpsuit and a pair of cheap combat boots, their battle cries echoing off the ruins surrounding them. She glanced around frantically as she continued on, desperate for any landmark that made sense to her. Most of the signs for the shops and buildings had been destroyed from the looks of it, as did any suggestions of street names and direction. She hurdled over a miscellaneous pile of cement rubble that lay in the middle of the street and took a sharp left, hoping to lose the hostiles behind her.

That’s when she saw it.

The building was somewhat in-tact, more so than the rest, and she recognized the familiar neon pink trim around the windows almost immediately. She wanted to cry.

Uptown Bakery.

She used to stop there every morning on her way to work, picking up her usual tall cup of black coffee with a plain cream cheese bagel. The crew working the shop had known her so well that her breakfast would be ready before she even pulled up to the curb. She only paid for her meals maybe half the time. Sometimes, if she was running late to work and didn’t have time to pop in, one of the barista’s would walk her order to her office, waving her hand when Annabelle would reach for her wallet to pay. She did, after all, only work a half mile away from the cafe. 

The Old State House was just down this road.

She peeled right with more velocity than before, her sense of direction giving her a newfound energy that she poured into her strides. The familiarity of the area hit her like a pre-war freight train: through the destruction and darkness she could see the bustle of a downtown Boston Monday morning, complete with the bumper-to-bumper traffic and the screech of horns through the window of her one-seater vehicle. She dodged past a few cars that had been no doubt caught in that same traffic when the bombs had dropped. She wondered briefly if their deaths had been quick.

A sharp pain suddenly radiated from curve of her shoulder blade, eliciting a sharp groan from her lips and bringing a weakness to her knees. Instinctively she reached for her backpack and pulled it to her chest, her puppy yapping loudly from the sharp ring of the gunshots. Her pace slowed as she heard the screams from the gang behind her, her head turning to gauge their distance from her. They were too close, not even 300 feet from her. Her hand reached behind to inspect the area of her back, hissing sharply when her fingertips came into contact with the pain. When she brought her hand back and saw the bright red stain of her own blood she gasped.  _ I got shot.  _ She chanted over and over in her head, the brute’s cries growing louder as they gained on her.

_ Keep going, Annabelle,  _ she was practically screaming in her head, her pace quickening at her own encouragement.  _ You’re almost there, not even five blocks away. You can make it.  _ She was significantly slower than before but maintained an even speed, forcing herself to continue through the pain.  _ There’s gotta be someone there that can help.  _

Another bullet made contact with her side, the burning sensation radiating across her body and pulsating through her veins as she cried out in agony. Her vision blurred and her head began to feel light as she stumbled slightly, desperately clutching her bag. Through the haze before her she spotted a broken wall, slung together most likely from various rubble and drift wood found throughout the ruins. She spotted movement near the structure, a cloudy form manifested against the dark contrast from the wood and gave her a glimmer of hope. She could hardly hear her voice cry out for help over the ringing in her ears. She didn’t even care that the person could be another member of their cult.  _ Let them come. Maybe they’ll make it quick for me.  _ She’d seen the bodies dangling from the ceiling in their hideout, seen the blood of their enemies coating the areas around their mouths and cheeks. She only hoped they didn’t feast on their victims alive. 

Her knees gave out from under her, her body collapsing against the broken pavement underneath her. Quickly she released the clasp keeping the pack sealed and ushered the canine into the world, the bundle of blonde fur bolting in the direction of the Old State House. “Good boy,” she managed to gasp out before a sharp blow cascaded across her back. The strangled sob that emitted from her throat sounded inhuman. A tight grasp flipped her onto her back and a blade was pushed to her throat. 

“Y’think ya can run from  _ us,  _ Vaultie?” A hoarse voice guaffed in her face, the blood-stained ski mask shielding his facial features both terrifying and darkly humorous. “We  _ are  _ the Wasteland. And y’don’ run from the Wasteland,” he pressed the blade further into her neck surely drawing blood near her jugular vein. “The Wasteland runs after  _ you-” _

A shrill ring echoed through her ears, the pressure of the blade suddenly absent from her skin as quick as it came. The masked man’s face was soon replaced by the purple and orange of the sky, the isolated sound of voices and screaming seemingly occurring a good distance away. She wanted to turn her head, wanted to find out why they were taking so long in finishing her off.  _ Just do it,  _ her eyes slipped closed, slowly giving into the soothing darkness filling her body as the world faded away.  _ Take me away from here… _

A dull pinch pushed into the frail skin of her forearm before peace enveloped her. 


	2. Chapter 2

“C’mon, Daisy,  _ one  _ drink. Just one.” With a cigarette drooping lazily in between two fingers and that signature pretty-boy smirk unfitting for a ghoul, John Hancock leaned against the threshold of Daisy’s Discounts. He adjusted his faded tricorn hat with a nod of his scarred head. “You can even have some of that pre-war bullshit y’like so much. What do ya call it?  _ Wine?” _

“One drink my  _ ass,”  _ Daisy rolled her eyes good naturedly at the mayor, wiping at the wooden counter of her shop with a damp rag. “One drink turns into two, then to three, then we  _ all  _ know the rest of that story.”

“Awh, lighten up, D,” John brought the cigarette to his ruined lips and took a long drag, letting the smoke stream from the opening of his nasal cavity with a droop of his eyelids. “How many times do I gotta ask ya until you say yes?”

“At least a million more, Hancock. And believe me, I’ve got all the time in the world.” She shot him a wink. “Besides, ain’t ya still seein’ that brunette from the Wastes?”

“Ah, that one was short lived.” A drifter had waltzed through the front gates a few weeks ago with an appetite for chems and a nasty attitude. He’d chatted her up before bringing her to his office for a round of Jet, a few doses of Med-X and a drug-induced fuck session on the tattered couch they had been lounging on. Her name was Millie, at least, that’s the name she told him, anyway. They’d gone around the block a few times, John even going as far as to take her to the Third Rail for a few drinks, but she’d skipped town a few days back without so much as a goodbye. Not that John was surprised; she was a smoothskin, after all. And what smooth skin would want to be with a chem-addicted ghoul like himself? “Y’know how it goes, Daisy.”

“You’ll find the right girl one day,” A male drifter wandered past Daisy and into her shop. Daisy took her place behind the front desk and leaned on her hands and nodded towards the settlement entrance. “Who knows, she could waltz right through that front gate and steal your heart right then and there.”

John let out an amused laugh and shook his head. “Only in my dreams, Daisy.”

As if on cue the city entrance swung open, revealing a blood stained Fahrenheit with a bundle of bright neon blue and crimson red in her toned arms. The cigarette in John’s fingers fell to the dirt as she strode into the city as if nothing was the matter. She caught John’s eyes and nodded at him.

“What the hell-” He started towards her, eyeing the form in her embrace. A pile of matted blond hair draped down Fahrenheit's forearm, blotches of red staining groups of strands here and there as well as various places along the blue jump suit. John realized with ample curiosity that this was no ordinary jumpsuit. This was a Vault-Tec jumpsuit. As in, a  _ vault dweller. _

“Found her outside the gate a few hundred feet away.” Fahrenheit adjusted the girl in her arms. “Pack of raiders took a few shots at her and a couple of swings.”

“Damn,” the mayor muttered, following Fahrenheit closely as she hurried in the direction of the Memory Den. He watched the wounded woman’s head bob slightly at Fahrenheit’s swift movements. “They dip at the sight of you?”

“Killed ‘em.” She called over her shoulder nonchalantly. “Every last one of them. Left their bodies in the street.”

“Good.” He nodded firmly and sighed. “Did she say anything?”

“I shoved a Stim in her arm and she blacked out.” John hurried around his bodyguard to get the door to the Memory Den, both striding across the worn wooden floors with light steps towards Irma. She shot them her usual seductress smile and stretched out a little farther at the sight of the duo. 

“You here for your usual, Mayor Hancock?” she purred, her smile fading when she caught sight of the bloodied form in Fahrenheit’s arms. 

“Not today, Irma. I’m assuming the good doctor’s downstairs?”

Irma straightened up slightly and nodded towards the stairway behind her. “Where she always is. Is she alright?”

“Don’t know yet,” Fahrenheit stepped around the couch with John on her heels. “We’re about to find out.”

Together their boots clomped loudly down the stairs and into the white light of the main office, Dr. Amari busy at work above a terminal with her back to them. Without turning to greet them she sighed quietly. “Back again, Hancock?” She called as her fingers danced over the keyboard in fluent strokes. “General wellness exam today or a full lounger session?”

“Neither, doc.” She turned to face him with a confused expression twisting her thin features until her hazelnut eyes landed on their new friend. Her lips made an “o” as she gave her a visible once-over. 

“Good lord-” she muttered, rushing to the counterspace beside her terminal and clearing the miscellaneous papers from the surface, pulling open one of the cabinets above the worktable and retrieving a white sheet to lay out for their guest. “You  _ really  _ have to stop bringing me injured wastelanders, Hancock. I’m a neurological doctor, not a medical practitioner.”

“She ain’t no ordinary civilian, doc.” Fahrenheit set the woman down gently against the white sheet, her blood almost immediately leaving stains against the fabric. “She’s got that Vault-Tec suit on.”

“Yes, I know. But still.” Dr. Amari began to open drawers and removed various utensils: scalpels, gauze pads, a pair of silver sheers, various medications and cleansing solutions. She nodded her head towards the first aid kit mounted on the wall near the entrance. “Fahrenheit, can you grab me the stimpacks from the medical kit behind us?” She began to work at the mystery woman’s suit, sliding the blade of the sheers against the material along her chest until she reached the curve of her hips. She pulled swiftly at the shoulders and stripped her of the clothing, revealing a black bra with tan lace designs lining the fabric. John averted his eyes from the swell of her breasts out of respect for the injured woman. Dr. Amari ran her eyes over the bullet wound penetrating the depth of her right side and sighed. “From the looks of it, I’ll need all of them.”

Fahrenheit returned with the drugs, Dr. Amari snatching them from her fingers and pushing one into the bend of her elbow, draining the syringe and setting it aside before reaching for another vile. “Hopefully her body won’t react poorly to these medications. Her veins are too healthy to have taken a dose of chems before.” John recognized the vibrant violet shade of Med-X through the clear container, the doctor searching for a strong seam under her skin to inject the opiate. When she found one suitable she hummed to herself, slipping the syringe into the sheath of her arm and pushing the drug slowly. “Where did you find her?”

“Outside the gates. Raiders got her.” Fahrenheit explained. “This chick may be a weak little vault dweller, but she was fuckin’  _ movin.’” _ She let out a whistle in appreciation. “Swear she could have outrun a deathclaw.”

“I take it you took care of them?”

“Stupid fuckin’ question, doc.” Fahrenheit lit a cigarette and took a long drag before blowing a thin stream of smoke from her cracked lips. “This is me we’re talkin’ about.”

“Is she gonna be alright?” John watched her work above the damaged vault dweller, wetting a pad of gauze with a sanitation solution and dabbing the entrance wound at her side. He heard the faint sound of Fahrenheit’s boots as she exited the room.  _ Probably bored of the situation.  _ He couldn’t help but chuckle at his right-hand man. 

“She’s somewhat stable. At least, as stable as you can be after being shot and stabbed.” Dr. Amari gave the area one last inspection before making use of the blade against her skin. A fresh stream of hot blood leaked from the new wound and onto the table beneath her, the blood seeping through the sheet with ease and pooling against the light shade of wood. Once the incision was made she spread the folds of skin apart to locate the projectile and grunted when she spotted it. “Mr. Hancock, can you please hand me the set of tweezers from the drawer to my left?” John danced around the doctor and pulled open the drawer, pressing the tool into her outstretched hand. “The bullet isn’t in contact with any vital organs so she should recover nicely. May have a scar or two, but who doesn’t now days.”

John released a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He studied the heart-shaped curve of her face, littered with golden flakes across the bridge of her nose and along her defined cheekbones, peeking slightly through the smears of blood along her milk white skin. Her small button nose curved unevenly and jutted slightly to the right, more than likely from a break that had never healed properly. He wanted to brush the loose strands of hair away from her eyes but held back, wary that the slightest touch may startle her from her comatose state. A deeply irrational concern, considering Dr. Amari’s fingers knuckle deep into the laceration near her hip.

“Mr. Hancock, I can take it from here. I know you must be a busy man.” The doctor instructed him as she pried further into the wound with her tweezers. “I’ll call for you when she’s stable and conscious.” 

John shook his head, unwilling to leave her side. Why was he so protective over a woman he had never even spoken to? “Look, doc, I get that three’s a crowd, but I just wanna make sure that-”

“Hey, Hancock,” Fahrenheit’s voice forced John’s attention elsewhere, his eyes meeting her hazel gaze as she nodded towards the staircase from the threshold. “Leave the woman be, she’s got some work to do. You gotta go do mayor shit, anyways.”

The ghoul growled under his breath and huffed as he stole one last glance at the vault dweller. “You swear you’ll come find me?”

“When have I ever lied to you?” Amari called to him over her shoulder.

“Fair point.”

He stalked out of the room, once again at Fahrenheit’s heels as they exited the den. They strode out into the daylight as Fahrenheit led John towards the Old State House. “So, what’s this ‘important mayor shit’ that has to be done now?” He pried as the bodyguard slipped through the entrance to the building, striding up the steps and into the mayor’s private office. When John reached the top of the staircase his eyes widened at what he saw.

In Fahrenheit’s arms was the smallest animal he had ever seen; the pup’s light blond fur glistening in the streams of sunlight emitting from the windows and it’s dark brown eyes boring right through the man’s soul. It was maybe the size of John’s boot, maybe a little larger. The pup let out a yawn, the little squeak escaping it’s small mouth nearly melting his heart.

“Now where the hell’dya find this-” John started towards the furball, letting the dog sniff his fingers before scratching the top of it’s head softly. So soft, John thought with a smile. The pup snuggled further into Fahrenheit’s arms blissfully.

“Caught him ‘fore he sprinted out of Boston entirely.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Came out of that vault girl’s backpack.” She nodded towards the couch to her right, a faded black bag leaned up against the red upholstery of the furniture. “Surprised the thing didn’t get shot.”

“No fuckin’ kiddin’,” John muttered, stroking the spine of the pup’s back. 

“The only other thing in that pack is an old photo.” The mayor glanced up at his employee, her lips twisted slightly as she explained. “Boss, she didn’t even have a gun on her.”

Hancock let out a long sigh and removed his hat, rubbing the top of his bald head slowly. “How the fuck’d she make it this long?”

“That vault is at least three miles away. Maybe four.” The dog readjusted himself in the crook of Fahrenheit’s arms before settling once again with a content sigh. “I seriously wouldn’t doubt she ran the whole god damn way.”

John scoffed. “Y’think she ran four miles straight? Bull fuckin’ shit.”

“You didn’t see what I saw, boss.”

He shrugged and turned his attention back to the adorable puppy. “Is this the important mayor shit I was supposed to be doing?”

The edges of Fahrenheit’s lips quirked slight, a rare occurrence in John’s book. “It might have been.”

John chuckled and shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“But there’s more,” Fahrenheit nodded toward the groggy bundle in her arm. “Look at his dog tag.”

His forehead crinkled slightly in confusion before he did as Fahrenheit asked, spinning the navy blue collar around the pup’s neck until he came to a gold plated tag dangling from the leather material. He turned the piece in his fingers and leaned forward to read the engraving on the other side.

“ _ Hancock? _ ” He read aloud, the pup’s head lifting at the sound of his name. His tongue lolled out and he panted happily. 

“The dogs fuckin’ name is Hancock,” Fahrenheit laughed out loud, a quick chuckle before returning back to her usual stone faced self. “Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer, boss.”

The ghoul studied the dog,  _ Hancock,  _ as he wagged his tail in excitement against the plate of Fahrenheit’s armor. There was no way this dog got his name from the ridiculously good looking mayor of Goodneighbour. The vault dweller hadn’t even met him before. No. He had to be named after the political figure John Hancock. The only other John Hancock anyone had ever given a shit about. Only problem was, everyone in the Commonwealth had little to no knowledge about American history.  _ Especially  _ history pertaining to the creation behind the once great nation of the United States. So how the hell did an isolated vault dweller know about pre-American history?

This girl had more to her than what she seemed.


	3. Chapter 3

_ “Annabelle!”  _

The voice was as smooth as the steady pour of fresh coffee from a rose gold kettle, flowing through one ear and out the other like a prayer. The light surrounding her washed out the scenery, giving her the impression she was floating. In any other circumstance she would be frightened, but the voice gave her courage to keep her wits.

_ “Annabelle!”  _ Her head snapped around in an attempt to pinpoint the voice. The owner of the voice was on the tip of her tongue but she couldn’t quite recall. Why had she forgotten? Where was she? 

_ “Oh my god, Anne, quit screwin’ around or you’ll run into a tree-” _ The voice laughed, the sweet sound echoing off the white light as if she were in a glass case. She wanted to call out but couldn’t speak. Such a strange sensation this was.  _ Did I die? Is this heaven? _

The floating sensation slowly faded and was replaced by a much different one; the flat of both of her feet pushed against something stiff, forcing her legs in a clockwise motion. A new pressure exerted against the underside of her butt and within the palms of her hands. She pinpointed the activity almost immediately.

_ I’m riding a bike. _

As if on cue, the empty space around her melted into a vibrant scenery of rolling hills and lanky pines. The lush meadow accented beautifully against the blue of the sky, stretching as far as the eye could see without a single cloud present. To her left passed a small baseball field, occupied by a group of teenagers playing a loud pick-up game against the turf. A tennis court followed suit no more than a few feet away from the center field mark, a mother and her daughter giggling as they swatted a tennis ball back and forth over the low net. The nostalgia hit her hard as she relished in the peace that came with the landscape surrounding her. 

“Bet I can beat ya to the rotunda!” Her head whipped to her left just in time to catch an all-too familiar head of strawberry blonde locks fly past her, showcasing that wide-toothed grin she had condemned to memory.

_ Jay.  _ Annabelle’s heart dropped to her stomach at the sight of her younger sister, her eyes matching the shade of the sky and her skin the same olive hue that she had inherited from their mother. She began to pump wildly at the pedals of her sun yellow beach cruiser with a shrill laugh. 

“Ready, set, go!” She left Annabelle behind in the dust, the tires of her bike working overtime as she rushed towards the center of the park. Annabelle watched, internally screaming at her sister to explain how she was  _ here.  _

“Hey, you cheater!” Words came out of Annabelle’s mouth that she had never spoken as her legs matched a similar pace to Jay’s, her body desperate to catch up. The blonde followed her counterpart across the cement path beneath the rubber of their tires, the giggles emitting from Jay’s lips echoing as if in a dream. When the rotunda came into view Annabelle’s legs pumped harder than before, slowly gaining on her sister with every passing second. 

At the last possible moment Annabelle surpassed her, her tires taking a right at the fork and doing a victory lap around the structure, her arm raised above her head in triumph. “See what happens when you cheat, Jay?” Annabelle’s voice sing-songed as she biked, her head snapping around to catch the reaction of her baby sister. Her eyebrows furrowed together in frustration as her typical pout began to ensue.

“No fair!” She huffed, eliciting a genuine laugh from Annabelle’s throat. She skidded to a stop near the back side of the rotunda as Jay followed suit. “I demand a rematch.”

“No way, I won fair and square.” Annabelle gave her a playful kick in the shin with the toe of her leather sandals. “I think you inherited Mom’s ‘sore loser’ mentality.”

“Did _ not! _ ” She stuck her tongue out at Annabelle with her arms crossed over her thin torso. 

“My point exactly.”

“Whatever. At least I’m younger than you.” She flipped her glimmering locks over her left shoulder gracefully with a bat of her lengthy eyelashes. “Won’t be long before I’m burying you in the ground.”

“False,” Annabelle shook her head. “It will be the other way around, because I’m smarter than you are and don’t hopelessly run after troublesome men.”

“The guys I choose are  _ not  _ troublesome,” Jay wagged her eyebrows playfully. “I just go after men with  _ power _ .”

“And a death wish,” Annabelle felt her eyes roll dramatically.

Like a tidal wave of emotion she suddenly realized where she was. _ Boston Common _ . The park had been a personal favorite for the sister duo, a happy childhood memory full of laughter and smiles from the years before their parents’ divorce. The public garden was only a few miles from Annabelle’s home in Sanctuary Hills, making it the perfect destination for the girls whenever Jay would come to visit. She remembered this exact conversation; it was March 2077, the first time Annabelle had seen Jay in almost four months. 

“I can’t wait for you to meet my current beau.” She kicked the stand of her cruiser out and balanced her bike against the pavement, striding to the steps of the rotunda and sitting cross-legged against the structure. “He’s a  _ cop.” _

“A cop my ass,” Annabelle leaned her black and white road bike against one of the pillars and took the spot next to her sister. “This ain’t one of the hoodlums you usually ride around with, right?”

“No way!” Jay punched her arm and laughed. “He’s  _ actually _ a cop. And he’s  _ gorgeous _ .” She sighed dreamily and leaned her cheek against Annabelle’s shoulder. Annabelle could feel her heart breaking within her chest but continued to smile down at her sister. “I’m tellin’ you, sis. I think I finally got it right this time.”

Annabelle scoffed good-naturedly and shook her head. “I’ll believe it when I see the ring on your finger.”

“I’m holdin’ ya to it.”

Everything felt so real: the conversation, the crisp spring air kissing the skin pulled tight over her cheeks, the background noise of children’s laughter and conversations all adding to the ambiance that she missed so much. She wanted it back. Wanted her old job, her old house, her old  _ life.  _ But most of all, she’d give anything to have Jay back. Give anything for one last day with her, one chance to say a proper goodbye and finally have an answer to the question that had been eating at Annabelle since the day the police officer had knocked on her door:  _ What the hell happened? _

“Hey, sister,” A gravely voice called out, forcing Annabelle’s head to snap around to pinpoint the source. It was as if there were someone right behind, standing right at her shoulder and speaking in her ear. She turned the other way, surveying her surroundings carefully. No one was around besides her and Jay. And no one could have retreated that quickly.

“Come on, sister, I know you’re in there.” The voice called again seemingly out of nowhere. Annabelle turned to Jay to gauge if she had heard the voice as well when she opened her mouth to speak.

“You took quite the beating,” Annabelle about crawled out of her skin in surprise when the deep voice traveled from her baby sister’s mouth, an unfamiliar smirk playing on her features.  _ Jay never smiled like that, let alone  _ spoke  _ like that.  _ “You’re pretty fuckin’ tough for a vaultie.”

Panic began to rise in her chest, a million thoughts racing through her head and a thousands things she wanted to say but nothing would come out, her mouth clamped shut by the weight of her consciousness as reality began to slowly take hold. She wanted to scream.  _ Don’t leave me alone here,  _ she wanted to sob, wanted to grip her sister’s arm and shake her until she understood.  _ I can’t lose you again, not right now- _

“It’s alright, I ain’t gonna hurt ya-” The park began to dissolve into a shade of black, Jay’s form melting into the darkness as her past life crumbled around her. 


	4. Chapter 4

When she opened her eyes next a similar white light greeted her, though this luminous haze felt a tad more overpowering than the one before. She squinted through the bright atmosphere and groaned, her limbs twitching slightly and sore from God only knows what.  _ At least I have control of my body again.  _

As her eyes adjusted she began to make out her surroundings, the ceiling above her structured with decomposing wood and rusty nails. The cushions of the furniture beneath her were stiff, her shoulder pressed uncomfortably into a red velvet backrest.  _ I must be on a couch.  _ Annabelle weakly lifted an arm and pressed her palm into the wood trim of the rest, attempting to push herself up into a possibly more comfortable position.

“Woah, woah, now. Take it easy, darlin’-” A hand grasped her wrist and her eyes went wide in horror. The hand was mangled; craters and exposed tissue covering every inch of leather skin pulled tight against a set of long fingers. Her head snapped around and she came face to face with the owner of the hand, who was dressed head to toe in none other than John Hancock’s authentic clothing. She all but leaped out of her spot along the old chesterfield.

“Holy  _ shit!”  _ Her fingernails dug into the material as she leaned away from the man, her chest heaving painfully with her eyes threatening to pop right out of her sockets. The zombified man shot her a smirk and removed his hand, tipping the edge of the tricorn hat in her direction.

“Glad to see I’m still a big hit with the ladies,” he chuckled, surveying her form against the vivid crimson cushioning caressing her. He couldn’t deny the dull ache her reaction left in his chest but it was a reaction he had expected, to say the least. “I ain’t surprised, you’ve probably never seen one up close before.”

“You- you’re-” Annabelle tried to choke out a string of words between gasps but couldn’t quite find her voice. How could John Hancock be  _ alive?  _ He’d been in the ground for close to three centuries. She remembered there being talk of new technology that could bring people “back from the dead” but she never took it seriously. She always assumed it was the same conspiracy theorists that predicted bubonic plagues and extraterrestrial lifeforms were walking the planet. That is, until  _ now. _

“A ghoul?” He tried to hide the bitter tone within his words. “A walking, talking pile of radioactive waste and decaying flesh. It’s alright, though. I think I pull off the King of the Zombies look pretty well.”

The girl shook her head at his response. “N-no, not..not that-” she gulped, her throat like sandpaper as she took another breath. “Y-your clothes…”

“What, you mean this?” He motioned towards his attire, the character crimson jacket glistening in a stream of sunlight emitting from an open window behind his body. “Got a pretty good deal on it, actually-”

“A-are you really John Hancock?” She finally choked out, her orbs catching each little scuff and patch that coated the surface of the garment. It was far from repair; it would take months to work out the stains and patch the holes in the fabric properly. She almost thought it might be worth it to make a new one. The man’s face split into a lopsided grin and he let out a raspy laugh.

“‘Fraid not, sister. Same name, same clothes, different man.” He continued to chuckle as Annabelle relaxed her grip on the furniture. “I gotta ask though, not many people know about pre-war America. Mind tellin’ me what they been teachin’ you in that vault?”

_ The vault.  _ The events leading up to this reality played through her head like a movie. The news broadcaster reporting the drop of the first round of bombs along the west coast, the stomach-churning sounds of emergency sirens blaring through the streets of Sanctuary Hills as the neighborhood made a bee-line to the local vault. Huddling with her block mates within the confines of the lowering platform, the nuclear mushroom cloud plowing over their heads as they sank into the earth. How long had it been since that day? She wondered if anyone from the pre-war era were even alive in the present time. 

“N-not a whole lot,” her breathing began to even, the lack of adrenaline running through her veins making the sharp pain along her torso more apparent. She hissed as the white hot displeasure coursed through her limbs. She gripped her side in agony. “Jesus, what happened to me?”

“Raider gang got ya,” The man, apparently also named John Hancock, guided her hand gently away from the body as he eased her head back against the armrest of the couch. “A few bullet holes and a gash in your back. Lost a lot of blood.”

Her eyebrows furrowed as she attempted to recall the fire fight. The last thing she could clearly remember was leaving the vault, returning to her old home in Sanctuary to find it in absolute ruins. A few bits of miscellaneous memory floated alongside it, one consisting of a disturbing blood-stained hockey mask-

“Don’t hurt yourself tryin’ to remember, now. Probably best if ya forget it, anyways.” The smile he offered her was oddly comforting, a friendly face in a world full of hate and destruction. “Well, if they weren’t teachin’ ya about our nation’s founding fathers, how did ya know about Hancock’s duds?”

Annabelle was quiet for a moment before she spoke quietly again. “What year is it?”

John’s forehead twitched slightly, racking his brain for a date. “June 15, 2287.” He recited slowly. “You’ve only been out cold for a few days, now. Hauled you over to my office to give the good doctor some breathin’ room-”

“Did you just say  _ 2287? _ ” 

His face showed signs of confusion, his features giving off a puzzled expression. “Pretty sure. Give or take a few years, maybe.” He chuckled and shrugged. “Sometimes the chems get the best of ya.”

Annabelle said nothing. 

“Look,” John sighed, adjusting himself onto his knees as he leaned against the same arm rest as she. “It’s not a big deal if ya can’t remember the date. Doc said that you may have memory loss, so don’t be shocked if-”

“I was born in 2052.” she whispered, nearly inaudbile. John’s head snapped up at full attention the moment he caught her confession.

“I’m sorry, what the fuck did y’just say?” She had to have been delusional from the wounds. That was it, of course. Not only was the memory loss common for trauma victims, but so were hallucinations. Either that, or she was just flat out fuckin’ looney. It could easily be both. Or maybe-

“I went into the vault when the bombs dropped.” 

John was silent for a moment while his brain attempted to make sense of her words. Damn, he needed a mentat. Fuck, he needed twenty. “Can ya explain how that’s even possible?”

“They put us in these chambers once we were inside. Big, iron-walled containers that they claimed was to ‘sanitize us’ in case any radiation was stuck to our skin.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair slowly, her fingertips running over the various clumps of blood clinging to her locks. “Guess they weren’t for sanitizing after all.”

In any other circumstance, John would have laughed at whoever was telling this fairytale. Handed them a canister of Jet and told them to calm down and take a breather. It was nonsense like this that made him think that maybe this world had gone completely mad. But not Annabelle. The way she trembled at her own words, the shake in her voice and the blank in her stare told him she was telling the truth. She didn’t strike him as the type to lie. Hell, she didn’t strike him as the type to do much of anything. Her being a pre-war woman actually made a lot of sense to him, considering her lack of ability to hold her own in the wasteland. 

“So, you’re tellin’ me that you saw this shithole when it  _ wasn’t  _ a..well, a shithole?” 

She sighed and closed her eyes. “It-it literally feels like yesterday.” Snippets of Jay from her memory flashed through her head, eliciting a groan mixed with pain and nostalgia emitting softly from her lips.

“You alright?” John sounded concerned, reaching out for her wrist to give it a reassuring squeeze. Just so she knew he was there. She swallowed thickly and nodded. 

“Just remembering my life before all this.” She pushed the tears back behind her eyelids, masking her frustration away from the mayor. “It’s just a lot to take in, I guess.” Her eyes suddenly widened as if she’d seen a Deathclaw. “Wait-my dog! He was in my bag-” 

“You mean lil’ Hancock?” He chuckled, nodding towards an ambiguous direction above her. “He’s just fine. Fahrenheit’s been takin’ real good care of him. Lettin’ him help out in guarding the city walls.”

She let out a sigh of relief and let her eyes slide closed. “Thank God. Hancock’s all I got left from-from before.” 

“Yer handlin’ this a lot better than most would be.” He spoke honestly, his gnarled fingers a strange sensation against the gentle curve of her skin. “If it were anyone else in your shoes right now, they’d have taken off running the second they woke up in this decomposing shithole with a ghoul in a costume.”

“Where are we?” She winced as she shifted the position of her left leg, her side radiating pain at her movement. “Did I get close to the Old State House?”

A grin split his features, nodding behind him. “You’re in it.”

Her eyes widened, doing a double take in his direction. “I’m- _ what?”  _

He chuckled. “Ain’t much to look at anymore, but she’s still goin’ strong.”

She shot up, ignoring John’s advice to lie back down and the torment permeating along her body as she rose from the couch. Her head whipped around in all directions, the familiarity flooding her body like a tidal wave. She was in the smaller meeting room at the back of the building, a chamber once lined with fresh white paint and perfectly preserved furniture now in shambles. She recognized the same red couches she would wake early to dust off once a week, now coated in ash and grime and stained to shit. The appliances were new; they must have been dragged in after the bombs hit the earth. She glanced down at the rotting coffee table littered with dozens of inhalers and empty pill bottles. John reached for her shoulder and turned her gently to face him.

“Hey, sister. Y’look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

She said nothing, instead striding around him and limping from the room, journeying to the main staircase and leaning against the railing as she made her way to the bottom floor. The stairs creaked with each step, the floorboards bending inward at the distribution of her weight against their crumbling structure. She could hear John following her footsteps, waiting for her frail body to break apart at a moment’s notice. She was somewhat thankful he was watching her so closely. 

Annabelle reached the end of the stairs and headed straight for the all-too mundane office space behind two french doors. She sighed in quiet relief when she spotted the well-preserved terminal atop the desk inside, seemingly untouched by the two centuries of radiation exposure and post-apocalyptic nightmare. She shuffled inside and ran a hand over the cool metal of the monitor, taking a leap of faith and pressing a single key to test the functionality of the device. To her relief the computer awoke from its slumber, greeting her with the Bostonian Society logo and a brief welcome below it.

_ “Welcome, Annabelle Hatcher!” _ It was as if she were back to work, starting up her day recording her research and data within the hard drive of the device. Almost three years of unfaltering devotion, months of investigation and interviews, all stored within the memory of this computer. She had backed everything up onto an external hard drive but was nowhere to be found within her ruined home. She figured one of the cannibalistic cults had stolen it at some point and used it as a roast for their finger-kabobs.  _ Imbeciles.  _

“Tried to crack that thing a million times.” John chuckled behind her. “Thing’s locked up tight. Doc Amari can’t even figure it out.”

Annabelle reached for the wooden rest of the chair before the terminal, hissing under her breath. The soles of John’s boots tapped against the wood floor as he moved towards her, taking her arm and supporting her as she slowly sank into her seat. He stood next to her as she reached for the keyboard and tapped at the “enter” key, the logo fading and replaced by a different display. The same message of welcome manifested near the top as a new question appeared below.

_ Password? _

Without a second thought Annabelle’s fingers flew across the keyboard, filling in the empty space with the same pass phrase she used for nearly everything.  _ JaybirdBellehop123,  _ a reference to an inside joke she once shared with her baby sister.

_ Welcome, Annabelle.  _ The screen changed, the terminal allowing access to her list of logs from over the years. Her eyes lit up as the entries multiplied before her, her hours of work rising from the dead like Jesus Christ himself.

“Damn,” John muttered above her, watching the entries flood in. “You cracked that on your first shot? You’re smarter than ya look.”

“It’s my computer.” Annabelle answered, using the arrow keys to scroll through the list of memos from her hard drive. She had them organized by subject, each folder containing hundreds of individual pieces of data and research. She scrolled until she found the largest file on the terminal: John Hancock. 

“Wait- _ yours? _ ” Annabelle glanced up at him. “Are ya sayin’ that-”

“Annabelle Hatcher, lead historian for the Bostonian Society.” She shot him an amused smirk, her first show of genuine humor after almost two centuries of being an icicle. “Welcome to my office, Mr. Hancock.”


	5. Chapter 5

Her recovery process drug on for close to a month. It took almost a week after she had first awoken in the State House to get her well enough to wander outside the building, leaning on John for support and never going farther than the Memory Den. She visited Dr. Amari regularly, cleaning up her wounds and attending to areas that required her care. For the first few days of her improvement Amari would come to her, kneeling by her newly adopted cot in the attic of the Old State House to check her vitals and give her medication. She spent most of her time either sprawled out on her mattress or chatting with John in his office space. He asked more questions than anyone she had ever met in her life. If she had met John during her life before the war, she would have found herself hating him almost immediately. She hated people that pried into others’ personal lives; she almost always preferred being the one to ask the questions. But now, with her basically knocking on Death’s door with a suitcase in her hand and John and Fahrenheit coming to her rescue she felt obligated to oblige his curiosity. Plus, she enjoyed talking with him for some reason. Especially since he was so curious about history.

“So, what the hell was the deal with this place anyway?” John had asked one afternoon, puffing on a Jet inhaler while Annabelle picked at a plate of warm Brahmin meat. “I know it’s got somethin’ to do with ol’ Johnny boy but I couldn’t ever find anything tellin’ me what actually went down here.”

“A lot of things happened, actually.” She took a bite of her food and chewed thoughtfully, swallowing the morsel before continuing. “It served as a meeting house for the government in her younger years. Many would argue that the American Revolution itself was born within these walls. Myself included.” 

“What, they had too much whiskey and got pissed off?” He shot her a smirk and she rolled her eyes.

“ _ No.  _ Well, actually, you may not be far off about the whiskey.” She chuckled. “Actually, in 1761, a man named James Otis took to the Royal Council Chamber to argue the Writ of Assistance, which was basically the royal government’s right to take the people’s land without just cause. Anyone’s land was game for eviction by the government at any time. Didn’t matter who you were, or what status you had in society. He lost the case, of course, but even John Adams himself personally assessed that this case bore the beginning of the Revolution.”

He nodded as he pulled a cigarette from the inside of his coat pocket, placing it between his thin lips before reaching for the lighter on the coffee table. “Sounds like me and the king wouldn’t have gotten along very nicely.”

She smiled. “You and me both, John.”

By the third week following her arrival into Goodneighbour she was able to get around better, relying on John less and venturing through the streets slowly but surely. Her and Daisy had become fast friends, Annabelle making frequent stops her general goods shop just to chat. She enjoyed the people residing in the small settlement just as much as they enjoyed her, and she found herself growing attached to the small town feel quickly. It reminded her of how Sanctuary had been before the nuclear devastation: a small community with good-hearted people and a welcoming atmosphere. It felt like home. 

One morning, while Annabelle was with Dr. Amari for another check-up, Daisy wandered over to the Old State House, trotting up the stairs and giving his ajar office door a few taps with her fist. John glanced up at her from his spot on the ruined couch with a grin and nodded for her to enter. “Well, if it ain’t my favorite gal. Finally gonna let me buy y’that drink?”

Daisy rolled her crimson eyes before taking a seat across from the mayor. “Oh, can it, Hancock. We all know who yer favorite gal  _ really  _ is.”

John reached for the Mentats tin near the heel of his shoe atop the table and slid the lid open, carefully choosing a few of the chalky pills and placing them on his tongue. “‘Fraid I don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout.”

“I may be nearly two hundred years old, Hancock, but I ain’t blind.” She draped her arm over the back of the couch and studied him. “Can’t say I blame ya, though. She’s somethin’ alright.”

He felt the high from his Mentats begin to kick in as he let a smile slip across his cheeks, letting his head fall back slightly against the wood of the couch trim behind him. “Yeah, yer right there.”

“I gotta ask ya somethin’ though.” Daisy leaned forward on the edge of the couch and rested her elbows against the top of her thighs, folding her hands above the collection of chems littering the table surface. “Why’s she so comfortable around ghouls?”

The ceiling above him danced in a beautiful combination of colors and shades, Daisy’s words floating through his ears like a perfectly orchestrated symphony. “Whatcha mean, Dais?”

“I  _ mean  _ she didn’t start screamin’ the second she caught wind of your face.” John lifted his head slightly to peer at the woman. “It takes a normal person at least a few days to get used to our... ‘unique’ mugs. And I’m  _ sure  _ you remember our last newcomers first introduction to the ghoul population?”

John sighed as he thought back to that day. Another woman who had been from what he assumed to be the same vault came waltzing through the front gates with Nick Valentine in tow a few days before Annabelle. Finn, being the asshole that he was, decided to cause a little trouble with the visitors with some good old fashioned blackmail. John had enough of the drifter’s propaganda and decided to step in when Finn had begun to spout off to the mayor some bullshit about how there’d be a “new mayor in town.” He’d finished the conversation by stabbing Finn in the kidneys, letting the now deceased drifter fall to his knees as he glanced over at the duo with a bloody knife in his hand. He had to give it to her, the woman had an  _ excellent  _ poker face. But he could see right through the stoic features of her cheeks and saw the fear in her eyes. He was almost impressed, until she opened that mouth of hers and asked what had happened to his face. Yeah, she was from the vault all right. He knew her story before she could even offer it up. 

But she never did. She’d come here for one reason and one reason only. Her and Nick had sauntered over to the Memory Den and right back out again, her eyes sporting a fire he could sense from the second story window of the Old State House. Something about the way she strode out of the town clutching her double barrelled shotgun with both hands told him that she was a force to be reckoned with. Whatever she had discovered with Amari in the basement of the den had her fuming. She was out for blood. And if he didn’t know any better, he would say he’d never see her again. 

“How could I forget the lil’ disappearing act?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Little fire cracker she was.”

“Did y’ever figure out if she knew the other gal?” 

John pulled a cigarette and lighter from his jacket pocket and popped the stick into his mouth, lighting the smoke slowly and taking a drawn out drag. “Hasn’t come up.”

“How hasn’t that come up?” Daisy leaned over farther in curiosity. “Y’spend every god damn second with her. Thought that’d be the first thing yer nosy ass would ask her.”

“Got more important shit to talk about, Dais.” He released a stream of smoke from the crater where his nose should be. 

Daisy’s eyes widened as the gears began turning in her two century year old head. “You’re afraid if you tell her she’ll leave, aren’t ya?”

John let out a hoarse laugh, bringing the cigarette from his lips with his long fingers. He draped his arm over the back of the couch and shot Daisy his best care-free smirk. “The girl jumps at her own shadow and you think she can make it out in the Wastes by  _ herself?”  _

“But she made it this far. It ain’t no easy trek from Sanctuary to Goodneighbour.” Daisy crossed her arms and shook her head. “And you’re afraid she’s gonna know who this other vault dweller is and go running after her, leaving you here buried under your mountain of fuckin’ chems and bottomless whiskey from Charlie.”

John said nothing, taking another long drag from his cigarette and closing his eyes.

“You’ve really fallen for her already, haven’t ya, Hancock?” She chuckled under her breath in disbelief. “The mayor himself, tripping over a pre-war dame who can’t even hold a pistol correctly.”

“Do ya even hear yerself right now, Daisy?” He crossed his legs loosely, cigarette perched between his teeth. “John Hancock ain’t ever been one to fall for any broad.  _ ‘Specially  _ a goody-two-shoes like ol’ Annabelle.”

“Whatever you say, Hancock.” Daisy rose from her spot on the crimson cushions, striding towards the door and stopping in the threshold. “Figure out why she’s got a tolerance to zombies. And if you  _ really  _ don’t give a shit about her, mention the other blue suit. I want a status report by tomorrow evening.” She shot him a wink and sashayed to the spiral staircase.

John watched her go with his cigarette pinched between his two fingers. He let the tobacco roll burn to a stub, replaying the lies he had told Daisy over and over in his head like a broken pre-war record. 


	6. Chapter 6

Annabelle awoke in the Old State House a few days later feeling more rested than she had felt in weeks. The joints deep within her knee caps cracked sharply as she stretched along her faded cot, letting a large yawn escape her mouth followed by a quiet squeak. When she sat up she noticed that many of her fellow bunkmates had already left their beds including one drifter named William, who has to be carried to his claimed cot nearly every night. Annabelle figured he was already parked in the Third Rail now, three glasses deep in Tennesee Whiskey and screaming nonsense at the bartender. She had yet to wander into the bar but had heard talk of a seductress who supplied vocal entertainment, and the apparent truth that the barkeep was a Handyman named Whitechapel Charlie. Annabelle had told herself she would see for herself once she felt up for it.  _ Today might be the day.  _ She smiled to herself, pushing herself to her feet and starting towards the staircase.

The bullet wounds from her attackers had nearly healed, all remaining were a few light pink scars that replaced the once gaping holes from the shells. Dr. Amari had taken excellent care of her, patching her up and cleaning her lesions when necessary. She’d of had some sort of radioactive infection if it hadn’t been for her expertise. And she wasn’t even an actual medical doctor. Amari had reminded her of that fact many times following Annabelle’s compliments of her bedside manor. She was more attentive than her doctor from before the war had been, and she paid him nearly $200 for every simple check-up. 

It was hotter than it usually had been in Boston, her Pip Boy reading an ungodly temperature of 95 degrees at 11:30 in the morning. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised; nuclear devastation had probably done _ incredible _ things to the earth’s atmosphere. With her vault suit currently out of commission due to the gunshot holes lining its navy blue fabric she was forced to trade Hancock’s golden plated dog tag for a pair of khaki cargo pants and a simple white t-shirt that a caravan had picked up. They were comfortable enough to where she could wear them to sleep, and kept her warm during the cold flashes that crept through the attic windows throughout the night. Blankets were hard to come by and she had yet to find one, but had already called dibs on the first blanket that passed through Daisy’s hands. 

Her pup was nowhere to be found, which didn’t surprise Annabelle one bit. Fahrenheit had grown quite attached to Hancock while she had been out of commission; she had trained him more efficiently than Annabelle had in the first three months she had owned him. Fahrenheit had already managed to familiarize him with basic commands such as sit and stay. She worried sometimes that Hancock would grow to recognize Fahrenheit as a motherly figure over Annabelle after nearly a month of her absence but he appeared to love her all the same once she was back on her feet again. He may take orders from Fahrenheit like her own personal sidekick but she couldn’t give him the abundance of affection that he so often craved. That was something Annabelle could deliver.

She trotted carefully down the steps to the first floor, peeking her head into John’s office.  _ Huh.  _ The room was empty, not even a lingering scent of cigarette smoke to suggest him being there recently. She could almost always find him in the lounge area, stretched out along the couch with a Jet inhaler perched between his slim fingers. He’d gaze up at her from under the brim of his tricorn hat and break out into that smirk that for some unholy reason sent her mind reeling. Her heart sped up just at the thought of him.  _ You just like him ‘cause of the coat,  _ she kept telling herself, leaning against the trim of the doorway and sighing deeply.  _ He’s the first guy to pay attention to you in over 200 years, of course you’re gonna have a crush on him.  _ But was it really just a crush? She’d never gotten flustered over a guy before in her entire life. Sure, in junior high and high school she’d had baby crushes on the leader of the academic decathlon group or the star quarterback of the football team but she’d never literally fallen apart for anybody before. She seeked him out almost every day, long after her need for his assistance had subsided, simply just to  _ talk  _ to him about anything and everything. He made her smile, made her laugh. Made her  _ feel  _ something. Maybe-

“He ain’t here,” Annabelle jumped at the intruding voice, her head whipping around to face one of the Neighborhood Watches guarding the easternmost room across from John’s living room. Annabelle felt bad that she didn’t know any of the guards’ names but then again, she didn’t honestly think they had names. She had never heard John call them anything but “brother.” “Left earlier this mornin’. Don’t know where he went.”

“Thanks,” she nodded in appreciation, striding to the spiral staircase and to the ground floor. She gave a brief nod of acknowledgement towards the two watches posted near her old office, a wave of nostalgia she frequently experienced washing over her. She decided to start off her day with trip to Daisy, knowing good and well that the woman would know exactly where John had run off to.  _ Besides _ , she thought with a smile as she pulled open the door to the northern exit,  _ what day wasn’t great when you got to see Daisy?  _

 

~

 

“Well, if it ain’t my favorite vault dweller in the entire ‘Wealth,” Daisy singsonged as Annabelle waltzed to her front counter, leaning her elbows along the surface of the desk at and giving her a warm smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, can it, Daisy, we all know I’m the only vault dweller you know.” Annabelle giggled, not catching the flash of doubt that flickered in the ghoul’s dark eyes. “I just wanted to stop by and see my  _ favorite  _ woman in the entire town of Boston-”

“You wanna know where Hancock is, don’tcha?” Daisy leaned against the counter on her hands, shooting her a knowing glance.

“Silly Daisy, I already know where Hancock is,” The blonde rolled her eyes in a half-assed attempt to play dumb. “He’s probably with Fahrenheit, patrolling the wall-”

“Not  _ that  _ Hancock, Annie,” Daisy had started calling her by Annie after only a week of being within the Goodneighbour walls, making her feel much more welcome within such a strange place. “Y’know exactly which Hancock I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

Annabelle let out a huff and groaned. “Alright, alright, you got me. Where’d the good mayor run off to now?”

“I actually don’t know.” Daisy sighed and nodded at a drifter as they exited her store. “Walked out the gate early this morning. Said he had somethin’ to take care of.”

“Isn’t it kind of weird for the mayor of Goodneighbour to, oh, I don’t know…  _ leave  _ Goodneighbour?” Annabelle was irritated now. How could he just leave without saying a word to her? What if he got hurt? She took a deep breath to steady herself, attempting to mask her emotions from Daisy’s view. 

“He does this from time to time. Takes a walk for a few days. Gets his head on straight,” Daisy reached from under the counter and retrieved a spray bottle of water and a dingy rag and started wiping dirt around its surface. Annabelle wondered why she even bothered to put the time in to clean the counter when the water she used was dirty anyways. “He always comes back, Annie. Trust me.” 

Annabelle glanced over her shoulder towards the front gate and grimaced, the pit in her stomach growing with each passing second. Where the hell could he have gone?


	7. Chapter 7

One week.

It had been nearly a week since she’d last seen or heard from John and she was damn near ready to tear her hair out. 

Daisy continued to attempt and convince her that this was completely normal for John to do but Annabelle was having none of it. She couldn’t count on two hands how many trips she had made to the front gate and back, desperate for any sort of news or clue as to where he might have gone. Or if he was alive, for that matter. The answer was the same every time.

“How do people survive without  _ phones?”  _ Annabelle would mutter to herself, eliciting a chuckle from Daisy. “Even a god damn short wave radio would do just fine right about now.”

“Not everyone here was blessed with the tech we kept in our pockets.” She’d reach out and give her hand a gentle squeeze with a soft smile. “I don’t think anyone here knows what a ‘text’ is.”

After the first three days of nothing Fahrenheit had finally found her curled up on the couch in John’s living room, her knees hugged tightly to her chest as she studied the untouched table of chems in front of her. Hancock bounded in front of the bodyguard, leaping up onto the furniture to greet his beloved owner. She glanced down sadly at the pup as he offered her kisses along the skin of her arm. 

“How ya feelin’?” Fahrenheit sauntered to the seat opposite of her and plopped down into the cushions, bringing her feet to the coffee table top and resting her combat boots against the wood. She pulled a cigarette from her pocket and reached for the lighter near the heel of her boot. 

“I’d be better if I knew where John went.” Annabelle sighed, pulling an excited Hancock into her lap and letting him lick her cheek. 

“You can’t worry about him. Seriously.” Fahrenheit took a drag from her cigarette and let the smoke roll from her lips lazily as she spoke. “He left for a reason. He’s got shit to do. People to see.”

“How do we know he’s not hurt?” She questioned.

“‘Cause if he thought he couldn’t handle himself, he would have drug my ass along with him.” 

Annabelle nodded, nuzzling her pup’s fur with the tip of her nose. They sat in silence for a moment before Fahrenheit spoke again.

“It’s obvious how you feel about him, y’know.” She smirked at the girl, taking another long drag without taking her eyes off of her.

Annabelle felt the color drain from her face as she struggled for words. “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Fahrenheit scoffed and shook her head. “Oh my god, you’re so naive. LIterally the entire town knows. Shit, even Fred Allen knows it, and he doesn’t even know what his own god damn name is half the time.”

Annabelle groaned and let the curve of her forehead rest against the flat of her kneecap. “I don’t know how I feel right now.”

“What, you’ve never been in love ‘fore?” She scoffed, tapping the excess ash from her stick of tobacco. “You’re fuckin’ lucky.”

The blonde glanced up from her fetal position, Hancock squirming from her lap to cuddle up against the curve of her hip. “Have you?”

Fahrenheit paused a moment before letting out a sigh. “Wish I could say different, but I have. It’s been a few years but I-” she took a deep breath before continuing. “I’ll never forget the feeling. It sucked ass.”

“What happened?”

“Drifter wandered into town one day. Few years back.” The bodyguard lifted the cigarette a few inches from her lips. “All legs and covered in that Wasteland slime, carryin’ nothin’ but a few caps and a shitty pipe pistol.”

“Where was he from?” Annabelle wondered aloud.

“ _ She  _ was from the Diamond City area.” Annabelle’s cheeks grew a deep shade of rose at Fahrenheit’s correction. “She’d been campin’ out with one of the residents but got caught stealin’ a can of Cram from the local trade post. So they kicked her flat on her ass.”

“I’m-I’m sorry, Fahrenheit, I didn’t mean to offend you-”

“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know.” She interrupted coolly, puffing on her cigarette before continuing. “Anyway, she wandered in one day and chatted me up near the front gate. Asked me if I had any work.” She leaned forward to smash the end of her cigarette into the ashtray amongst the collection of chems. “Shoulda known she was trouble from the start.”

“Did you offer her a job?”

“And then some,” she shook her head. “Let her patrol with me. Told her I needed someone else to help keep Goodneighbour safe. Never told a bigger lie in my life. The last thing I needed was an extra hand. But I wanted to be close to her.” She draped her arm lazily over the couch and gazed off towards the entryway of the living room. “I was hooked from the start. And me being great with affection and all, I never got the chance to tell her how I felt.”

“What happened to her?” Annabelle stroked Hancock’s back, the soft fur feeling sweet between her fingers.

“Gone. Skipped town a few months later without so much as a goodbye.” She let out a cold, raspy laugh. “Not before cleaning Hancock out of everything he had. Slipped a little something extra into the mayor and I’s drink and made off with his stash before we came to.”

“Jesus.” Annabelle muttered. 

“Yeah, well, Jesus wasn’t much help that night. And the mayor wasn’t too happy either.” Fahrenheit tapped her fingernails against the wood of the couch trim as she spoke. “I sound cliche as fuck right now, but I was in love with her. No doubt about it. And with her leaving me the way she did? It fuckin’ hurt. Vowed I never wanted to feel that way again.” 

“I’m sorry, Fahrenheit.” Annabelle consuled. She really did. The heartbreak she had felt was plastered all over her face. But as quickly as it had appeared it was gone, replaced with the same stoney expression she wore day in and day out. 

“John used to tease the shit out of me, sayin’ that I had the same star-struck expression every fuckin’ time she came ‘round here.” She pointed at Annabelle and nodded. “And you got that same look in your eye. Like y’have somethin’ to live for. The same fire I felt with that drifter.”

Annabelle cast her eyes away from Fahrenheit’s knowing stare. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.” She admitted with a shrug. “And honestly I’m-I’m kind of scared.”

“You should be.” Annabelle directed her gaze back to the woman. She shrugged. “He’s fuckin’ wild, I can tell you that. And falling in love is scary. But-” She sat up straight and slapped the slope of her thighs with her palms. “You won’t know until you give it a shot, right?”

Annabelle ran a hand through her sandy blonde hair, tugging slightly at the roots. “How do I even approach this? Do I just-ask him out? Is that a thing people do these days?”

Fahrenheit chuckled and rose from the couch. “You sound like a god damn grandma right now. What next, you gonna start usin’ a cane?”

“Hey, mind you, I’m over 200 years old. Respect your elders.”

Fahrenheit crossed her arms and shook her head. “I’ll shoot myself in the head before I start takin’ orders from a priss like you.” She motioned to the exit. “C’mon, I gotta go on patrol. Maybe in the meantime I can show you how to shoot a fucking pistol correctly.”

“Excuse me, I know how to fire a gun.” Annabelle scooped a sleeping Hancock into her arms and pushed herself up with her free hand, trailing behind the bodyguard from the living space. “I’m a total badass with a weapon.”

“Tell that to the empty tool belt I found you with.” 

~

 

By the end of the week Annabelle was worried sick. She had stopped eating by day five, a terrible habit she had picked up at an early age from before her parents’ divorce. Her time spent with Fahrenheit inside and on the outskirts of Goodneighbour seemed to help her stress levels a bit but was never enough to completely soothe her worries. When she wasn’t with Fahrenheit she found herself holed up in the Third Rail, a sanctuary she hadn’t discovered until around day four without John. She wandered into the bar on a whim, looking for any kind of distraction from within the confines of her mind. She found Magnolia’s smooth vocals and Whitechapel Charlie’s scotch to be quite the remedy for her pain. She wondered why she hadn’t come down here sooner.

She had gotten to know the songstress rather quickly after spending enough time in the hole, the two chatting between her sets over their glasses of respective drinks throughout the day. She’d stumbled into Goodneighbour only a few months after John had taken over as self-appointed mayor. Desperate for refuge after escaping a small settlement overtaken by a raider gang outside of Bunker Hill, she managed to sweet talk Charlie into giving her a job as a “waitress” for the Third Rail. At the time another soloist by the name of Jeanie Rose had command of the stage with mediocre covers of hits from Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday. But behind her navy blue gown and forest green eyes held a temper that burned redder than the mayor’s jacket. And one night when a drifter decided to throw a few drunken insults her way during her rendition of “Crazy He Calls Me” she ended up going crazy herself, her and that ridiculous floor length frock of hers trotting loudly up the stairs and eventually through the gates of Goodneighbour. With an empty stage and no one to fill her spot Magnolia stepped up on a whim and finished Jeanie’s set, drawing a larger crowd with her angelic vocals than Charlie had ever seen since he’d first floated into the city. He offered her the position of entertainer on the spot, and Mags had been singing for the Third Rail ever since. 

Charlie, on the other hand, wasn’t one to open up, which Annabelle respected. She had encountered many reserved people in her life, and while Charlie wasn’t exactly a “person,” she knew his type. Keep your trap shut and do your job. While she enjoyed speaking with Magnolia about their pasts and the current news, she found Charlie to be the best companion for those moments she longed for a quiet drink. And by night seven she wasn’t sure she could handle holding a simple conversation with anyone, drowning herself in damn near a full bottle of Charlie’s best scotch well into the night. The bar was about cleared out for the night before Charlie finally stepped in.

“Alright, Annabelle, I think that’s enough.” He snagged the drunk’s empty glass before she could raise it for another, earning a slurred gasp from the girl. “I think it’s best if you went home.”

“Oh, c’m-c’mon Charlie,” she dug her elbow into the counter of the bar, leaning her face into her hand sloppily. “Jus-jus’  _ one more.  _ One. More.” She help up her index finger before slapping it against her cheek.

“That’s what you said an hour ago. Now look where we are.” Charlie floated towards the end of the bar and set the dirty glass on the counter against the wall. “Drinkin’ ain’t gonna bring the mayor back. Do you think he’d wanna see you like this?”

“I just might.” A familiar gravelly voice called from behind her. Her head snapped around and her eyes widened in surprise.

“J-John?” 

“That’s right, sister. In the flesh. Well, what’s left of it.” John chuckled, his boots leaving a trail of wasteland mud across the floor of the bar as he headed towards her. 

“Aw, c’mon, Mr. Hancock. I just cleaned that floor.” Charlie groaned.

“Sorry, Charlie. Forgot to wipe ‘em off on the ‘Welcome Home’ mat y’have out front.” He stopped a few feet from Annabelle and raked his eyes over her form. “Seems someone discovered the joys of the Rail while I was gone.” 

“I-I thought-” Annabelle wasn’t sure if her eyes were stinging from the tears or from the alcohol in her system, his form blurring slightly through the moisture gathering within her eyelids. She wanted to hug him but refrained from doing so, fearing she may scare him away in her drunken state. “You...you left-left and I didn’ know w-where y’went-”

“Anne, you really shouldn’t worry ‘bout me.” He reached for her and her heart nearly exploded within her chest, his scarred fingers clasping around her wrist and tugging her softly from her place at the bar. “But I think ol’ Charlie wants to close up. I’ll fill ya in back at the State House, how’s that?”

All she could do was nod, allowing him to guide her from her seat carefully, like a father leading his child across a busy street. But when she rose the world seemed to spin faster around her, the bar tilting slightly and bringing her along with it. A pair of arms caught her around her middle before she hit the floor, a chuckle emitting low in her ear and sending a chill down her spine. “Woah there, little clumsy tonight are we?” She could feel his heat radiating against her back through the thin fabric of her t-shirt, and she wanted nothing more than to be held by him like this all night long. “It’s alright, I gotcha.” 

Before she could blink he had her hoisted into his arms bridal-style, her cheek pressed into the curve of his chest and her body flush against his. She could feel a fierce blush pooling within her cheeks as she tried to hide her face within his coat. It was the most intimate position she had ever been in with a man, and while she was sure an average woman would never think twice about being carried in such a way, Annabelle was not your everyday individual. “Keep her safe, Mr. Hancock.” She heard Charlie call after the duo, his voice echoing in her ears as John carried her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually one of my favorite chapters. I think it's because of Fahrenheit's part near the beginning. I just love my little family ok


	8. Chapter 8

The next time Annabelle opened her eyes she was tangled in a pool of dingy white sheets, the light from the mid-day sun spilling through the glass of a window directly above the bed frame. She let out a groan, her head throbbing as she struggled to make out her surroundings. The bed was unfamiliar, as was the space she had woken up to. She assumed she was in the attic based on the similar structure to her sleeping quarters but she had never ventured to this side of the State House. Annabelle sat up, straightening her t-shirt and running her fingers through her wild blonde hair.

“Well, look who finally decided to wake up.” Her head snapped around towards the doorway to her right, her heart nearly melting when she spotted the mayor himself. He leaned against the wood of the door frame and smirked at her. “Didn’t think I’d see you up and movin’ til’ nightfall.”

_ John.  _ So it hadn’t been an alcohol-induced dream. She wanted so bad to run into his arms and hold him, tell him how much she missed him and for him to  _ never  _ leave her behind like that again. She choked down her feelings and sighed. “I feel like I was hit with a freight train last night.” 

“Not sure what that is, but I assume that means you’re hurtin,’” John chuckled and moved towards the bed as her heart leapt in her chest. He sat along the edge of the bed, the mattress squeaking slightly as his form molded into the material. “Ole’ Charlie said you racked up quite the tab.”

“Nothin’ I can’t handle.” Annabelle countered, her eyes darting towards her tattered backpack on the floor to her left, opposite of John. She never knew how well her Nuka Cola bottlecap collection could come in handy until she woke up in the Commonwealth. Good thing her prized stash had been tucked away in her fire-proof safe underneath her floorboards. Over two thousands caps proved useful out in the Wasteland. 

“I know that, sister.” 

They were silent for a moment before Annabelle finally cleared her throat. “So… where have you been?” She tried to hide the bitterness in her tone but she could feel it bubbling to the surface as she spoke. “Gone almost a week without so much as a goodbye. Must have been important.”

She watched John’s shoulders rise and fall with his deep breaths, his hand coming up to adjust his hat before he replied. “Had some shit to take care of.”

“Like what?”

“Just-” John scoffed and shook his head. “Just some shit, Anne. Don’t worry about it.”

“Just some ‘shit’? What kind of ‘shit’ takes you almost a week to figure out?” The blonde was getting frustrated now, her eyebrows knitted together and forcing a large crease within her snow white forehead. “You go out in that god forsaken hell hole by yourself, without telling anyone, and you expect no one to wonder where you ran off to?”

“Just drop it, Anne.  _ Please. _ ” 

“No, I will not just  _ drop  _ it.” She turned her body so she was facing him completely, the back side of John Hancock’s duds staring her straight in the face. “What the hell could be so goddamn important that you can’t just  _ tell me-” _

“I was looking for the other survivor of Vault 111!” The ghoul’s head snapped around, his blackened orbs boring straight through her like a sheet of glass. He was practically panting, his voice echoing off the walls and vibrating within her ear drums. The muscles in her body froze and her eyes were as wide as saucers staring back at him. 

John’s eyes softened, a huff of air leaving his throat expressing the slightest hint of frustration as he repositioned himself a few inches closer to her on the mattress. “Anne, I’m sorry I didn’t say anythin,’ it’s just that-”

“Someone else made it out of the vault?” Her voice was hardly a whisper, her gaze casting down towards the tangle of bedsheets around her torso, letting the information sink in. Someone she no doubt had known, someone from her own neighborhood. Someone else that understood the difficulty of adjusting to this strange wasteland where guns were a necessity and food was scarce. How long had they been ou? How did she not see them when she escaped herself? Did they know she was out here as well?

Annabelle failed to see the hurt in John’s eyes, the very real fear of her leaving  _ him  _ behind staring him right in the face. “Yeah.”

“How long?”

John let out another sigh, rubbing the back of his scarred neck with his tattered fingers. “I dunno when she crawled out, but the last she came through here was a few days before we found you-”

“A few  _ days?”  _ A fire suddenly lit up inside her, her mind working overtime as she thought this through. A smile of disbelief spread across her cheeks. That meant there was a very high probability that she was still out there, still fighting her way through the Commonwealth. And Annabelle could find her. She could find her, and they could take the wasteland together as a pre-war team. Maybe they could even rebuild Sanctuary, reclaim their home from invading Raiders and bring back the serenity and happiness that the neighborhood once had. “That means that she’s still out there, right?”

John didn’t answer, his mouth clamped shut and his breath coming out in short bursts from the gap in his face where his nose used to be. Annabelle’s gaze drifted back up to his features and she studied him carefully.

“You found her, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question. Annabelle already knew the answer.

It felt like a lifetime before John finally answered. “Yeah.” 

She shot out of the bed, the sheets discarded into a forgotten pile on the bed along with the hangover she had struggled with moments ago. She slung her backpack atop the mattress and began searching the floor for her combat boots, absent from the left side of the bed. “Where the hell-”

Her shoes were suddenly suspended in the air in front of her face and she glanced up, coming face to face with the more than hurt looking ghoul in front of her. She took the footwear carefully from his fingers and sat back down onto the edge of the bed, working on sliding her boots over her feet and lacing them up tightly. She could feel John watching her intently.

“Where are you going?” His voice was monotone, lacking the usual pep or innuendo he usually sported whenever he spoke to her. 

“I’m not just gonna sit here while the other survivor from Sanctuary parades around the Commonwealth alone.” She finished tying her first boot and began working on the second. “I gotta go find her.”

“She ain’t alone,” he spat, “She’s already got someone with her.”

“Well, then, I’ll find them both.” Annabelle pulled the laces of her second boot and began to knot them when John’s fingers stopped her. Her eyes drifted upward and met with John’s blackened gaze, their face mere inches away from each other. Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden closeness. Her skin prickled pleasantly in anticipation. 

“Annabelle, y’can’t be serious. You can’t even fire a goddamn gun.” His voice was a low growl, the vibrations in his tone feeding a warmth growing within the pit of her stomach. She gulped under his stare.

“F-Fahrenheit’s been teaching me.”

“Against mannequins, Anne. What happens when you face them Raiders out there in 

‘Wealth? Y’gonna run like ya did last time?”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ll have you to watch my back.” She cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked. “That is, if you can keep up.”

John was quiet as he processed her words. He never mulled over the idea of her 

Wanting him to tag along with her. Why would she want him along? He saw the way the other drifters watched her when she walked past. Noticed how Maccready was always chatting her up whenever she wandered into the Third Rail. She had hundreds of other options. Why him? “Uhm, what?”

“What, you thought I would freak out over you leaving town for a week and then I’d skip out on you the next minute?” She chuckled easily, carefully nudging her fingers loose from his grasp and finishing her knot. “You obviously don’t know me then, John.”

“Hey, I know you good and well. Better than anyone else in this shit hole.” His teasing 

Tone was back in his voice, his gaze soft and capturing in a way that reduced her to a puddle every time. “Just didn’t think you’d want me along.”

“And what made you think that, Mr. Hancock?” A smile played on her full lips. “You’re damn near the only person I’d trust to protect me out there.” 

They were close.  _ Real  _ close. He could feel the heat from her body radiating from her smooth skin and her breath tickled what was left of his face. He wondered how she would react if he closed the distance, tasted her lips and showed her how he  _ really  _ felt about her. Would she run the other way? Would she be disgusted? Or, would he confirm his suspicions and reciprocate everything he gave to her? His mind played tug of war with the idea before she broke the silence. 

“Well, it isn’t getting any lighter out.” She moved from the bed, slinging her backpack 

Over her shoulder and smiling down at him. “Are you coming with me, or do I need to go bug Fahrenheit for a plus one?” She held out her hand in expectancy.

John grinned and adjusted his tricorn hat, shaking his head and taking her hand. “Let’s get this freakshow on the road.”


	9. Chapter 9

Before the duo skipped out of town, John made a pit stop at the Old State House balcony to inform the citizens of his extended absence. Annabelle trailed behind him as he took his place against the molded railing, watching him carefully as he addressed the mass of residents gathered below him.

“You can’t go, Hancock! We need you!” A concerned drifter called in response.

“Hey, I’m always gonna be here in spirit, my man.” John countered. “Goodneighbor and I, we got a connection. But, like any hot and heavy relationship, sometimes you gotta spend some time apart. Let things cool off. Remind yourself of who you are.”

“Cute analogy.” Annabelle had murmured playfully from behind him, hardly loud enough to hear. John kicked her softly in the shin, making her giggle.

After John and the community participated in their rehearsed call and response pep talk the duo headed back inside and down the stairs to the exit of the Old State House. John pretended not to notice how closely she was walking next to him, their arms nearly touching, but inside his head was reeling at their lack of personal space. When they neared the front gate of Goodneighbor they were greeted by Fahrenheit, who was leaned up against one of the stone pillars in front of One Shot, One Kill. She smirked behind smoke of her cigarette as they approached her.

“Going somewhere, killer?” John’s bodyguard nodded at Annabelle, dropping her lit cigarette to the dirt and smashed it carelessly with the toe of her boot. 

“Hey, I did a number on those mannequins out there. Did you see how many bullet holes were in it’s head?”

“Yeah, like, two. Out of twenty.” She chuckled good naturedly. “Don’t forget that Raider’s have a beating heart and working body parts.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t.”

“Sure.” She sing songed, closing the distance between them and punching her playfully in the shoulder. “But seriously, be careful out there. I know you got through it once, but midtown ain’t no walk in the park.”

Annabelle smiled and shot a side glance towards John. “Good thing I’ve got a little help out there.”

“You’re in good hands.” Fahrenheit nodded firmly, turning to John. “Come back in one piece. I’ll be awfully bored if you die out there.”

“Don’t steal my chems while I’m gone.” He shot back with a smirk. “And don’t think I won’t notice if you take a hit of my Jet. I know  _ exactly _ how many hits are left in those inhalers.”

“Wouldn’t expect anythin’ less from King Chem himself.” Fahrenheit nodded behind John and Annabelle. “Go see K-L-E-O and Daisy before you take off. Think they got you a parting gift.”

Before she could talk herself out of it Annabelle threw her arms around the bodyguard’s neck, pulling her into a tight embrace. She felt every muscle in Fahrenheit’s body tense up at the contact. “Please take care of Hancock.” Annabelle murmured quietly. She could hear John chuckle from behind her, amused at the discomfort more than likely etched onto Fahrenheit’s features. She pulled away before Fahrenheit could react, Annabelle’s eyes widening at the sight of the woman’s face. Was that a  _ blush  _ on her cheeks?

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here before I put a bullet in you myself.” She muttered, pushing past the duo and heading in the direction of the Old State House. No doubt heading to the Third Rail, prepared to drink however much necessary to forget about the small level of affection demonstrated by the vault dweller. “Hancock’s with Daisy.” She called over her shoulder as she sauntered off. 

John and Annabelle exchanged a knowing glance before crossing over to KL-E-O’s shop, the tame Assaultron standing rigid in her usual place behind the dingy counter. 

“Ah, you’re back. Are you actually here to browse my stock instead of comment on how scary they look?” KL-E-O’s monotone voice echoed from underneath her hardware, her limbs twitching slightly as she spoke. 

“Actually, I heard you have a present for me.” 

“Yes, although I’m not sure if you even know how to use it correctly.” The robot bent at the waist to reach beneath the counter, retrieving what Annabelle assumed to be some sort of sniper rifle. She’d never actually seen one up close, only in movies and crime shows that she had watched on television before the war. Her light blonde eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“Jesus.” John and Annabelle spoke at the same time, John gazing over the firearm in appreciation. Annabelle gaped at it with pure fear.

“I’ve had this sniper rifle for a while. One of the more reliable stock. I was keeping it as a personal project, but while I can hold my own in a fight, I sense you’ll need it more.” Annabelle didn’t know if she should be offended or flattered. She decided to go with the latter. KL-E-O outstretched her robotic arm and handed the rifle to Annabelle, the weapon feeling cold and heavy in her palms. She stared at it blankly. “I even added a modification to it that increases its distance of fire. That way, you can stand farther away from your enemies and they will still die a satisfying death.”

“Thank you, KL-E-O.” The sniper rifle was a dull silver shade, with a little rust gathering near the barrel. It was clear the entire weapon had once been coated in bronze residue, but KL-E-O had given it a good scrub down. Annabelle brought the gun to her face and peered through the large scope, testing out it’s visibility. Surprisingly, the glass was nearly crystal clear. No doubt the work of the Assaultron as well. 

“Please come back alive. I do not want that weapon to have gone to waste.” KL-E-O responded out of boredom. Annabelle cracked a smile at that.

“I’ll miss you too, KL-E-O.” The blonde adjusted the strap of the rifle and slung it over her shoulder carefully, feeling uneasy at the way the firearm thudded against her back.

Daisy was already waiting for them by the time they meandered next door, Hancock the furball tucked safely within the crook of her weathered arm. Annabelle cooed at the sight of her pup, rushing over to shower the drowsy animal with sweet kisses and soft ‘I love you’s. Daisy chuckled above her head. 

“He’ll be alright. We’ll take  _ good  _ care of him.” Daisy eyed John firmly. “And  _ you  _ better take care of her, ya hear?”

“C’mon, D. When have I been known to get into trouble?”

“That’s a joke, right?” Daisy quaffed, Annabelle straightening up and offering Daisy a smile. “You watch your back out there. Nobody wanderin’ the ‘Wealth are as forgiving as the people in here.”

“I know, Dais.” Annabelle scratched the top of Hancock’s head and sighed. “Is it bad that I’m getting nervous?”

“I’d be, too. Haven’t been outside these walls for years. Don’t plan on it, either.” The ghoul shrugged honestly. “But, y’gotta do what y’gotta do. That vault dweller is out there somewhere. And if you need to find her, you better do it.”

“What if it’s a fool's errand?”

“Probably is. But isn’t that what life's all about in the Commonwealth?”

She wasn’t wrong. For god sakes, the entire world was nuked and humanity was still kicking around hundreds of years later. As a race, humans shouldn’t have made it this long after the Great War. Hell, they shouldn’t have made it at all. But here they were, fighting for the life everyday, which had turned into a luxury rather than a right. Who’s to say Goodneighbor wouldn’t get attacked tomorrow and she would die anyways? She had to take a chance. There was no point in waiting around for death to find her. She might as well face it head on.

“The world’s gone to shit, ain’t gonna lie,” Annabelle turned to face John, who was leaned up against the entrance of Daisy’s store. He had that lazy grin stretched across his features, making Annabelle’s eyes light up. “But I gotta feelin’ that we can make the ‘Wealth a little bit better if we just try.”

“And you’ll need some help if you’re gonna go saving the world.” Daisy added, setting Hancock down on top of the counter and rummaging around in the cabinets below. He had grown nearly twice the size he had been upon stumbling out of that cryochamber, his fur coated with a fine layer of Wasteland grime that made him appear almost a brownish shade rather than a golden blonde. Before the war Annabelle would have been appalled at the sight of his filthy coat, rushing him into a bath before he tracked mud into her somewhat-clean home. But now she hardly found the nerve to care, almost taking pride in her pup’s dirty appearance. It showed his strength, his usefulness to the settlement she had already take such a deep fondness to. Besides, how could she judge when she was covered in that same grime head to toe?

Daisy popped back up, her face split into a grin and her hands still tucked away underneath the counter. “Alright, Anne, close your eyes.”

Annabelle raised an eyebrow before complying hesitantly. “You aren’t gonna have KL-E-O shock me again, are you?”

The pre-war ghoul snorted in front of her, rummaging around her counter for a few moments. “Not this time. That was pretty good, though, you gotta admit.” A minute later she hummed appreciatively. “Alright, open ‘em.”

Her sky blue eyes fluttered open and she let out a small gasp as she took in her gift. Stretched atop the counter sat her blue vault suit, the one she had been wearing the day she tumbled to the front gate of Goodneighbor.  _ Literally.  _ The bullet holes and gashes that had once lined the fabric from the Raider’s that had chased her were patched up with a similar navy blue thread, and the suit appeared to have received a good wash to free it of the blood stains. Laid next to the suit was a collection of various armor pieces, all stained a rusty bronze color but all the more protective than the usual strips of fabric she paraded around Goodneighbor with. 

“Figured you might want to be able to move around while you’re out there.” Daisy explained, stroking Hancock’s head with bright eyes. “Can’t do much in dingy jeans when you’re bein’ chased by a mutant hound.” 

The offering was so sentimental to the vault dweller that she nearly cried. Instead she put all of her energy into embracing Daisy, a gesture which the ghoul gladly reciprocated. 

John watched with a soft smile as the pre-war women hugged, the way Annabelle nearly crushed the ghoul’s frail torso within her embrace. How must that be to be thrown into an almost completely different world, nearly two centuries later, and know absolutely no one? To wake up and know that all of your friends, your life, your family, everything you ever worked for, burned while you sat on ice? Annabelle had lost everything. Everything she had ever cared about was gone. And while the mayor knew how much Daisy meant to her, with her being born pre-war as well, she still wasn’t in the same age bracket as Annabelle. It was hard to talk to someone about common life experiences when Daisy could have easily passed as her mother even before the bombs fell. This other survivor of the vault was a different story. They  _ knew  _ each other, no doubt. It was someone Annabelle could connect with. Someone she could grow with. And suddenly John felt like shit for trying to keep her away from the truth. It was selfish.

As if she read his mind Daisy peered over the top of Annabelle’s shoulder, making eye contact with John. The edges of her lips quirked slightly as she mouthed,  _ “You did good.”  _

_ Yeah,  _ he thought with a smile, giving her a nod of appreciation.  _ I guess I did. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will John and Annabelle ever admit their feelings? When will I stop being such a bitch and let them get together? the world may never know.....


	10. Chapter 10

The Commonwealth looked different than Annabelle had remembered it. The ruins and buildings surrounding them appeared less ominous, the alleyways and hidden corners less treacherous. She held KL-E-O’s sniper rifle close to her chest as she hesitantly strided through the empty streets, her head swiveling violently at enemies that didn’t exist. She prefered walking in John’s shadow rather than taking point, her head peering around his body to observe the direction they were heading in. She was more terrified than she let on. She was trying to act tough, but John knew better. And every time she nearly leaped into his arms at the slightest rustle of debris in the vicinity, he chuckled in amusement.

“A little jumpy, are we?” He teased at one point, giving her shoulder a gentle nudge. “Ya ain’t scared, are you?”

Annabelle straightened up and cleared her throat, shaking her head. “Nope. Not at all.” She was a terrible liar. John smiled. “I can take care of myself.”

He snaked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his body, eliciting a pleasant laugh from the girl’s lips. “Sure you can, killer.” He chuckled lightly. “Sure you can.”

They walked for nearly a mile without encountering a single hostile. While Annabelle was vocally celebrating this fact, John was on edge. He had his double barrelled shotgun drawn and loaded while the blonde had let down her guard significantly more than when they first left Goodneighbor. “This isn’t so bad.” She sing-songed, glancing up at John and smirking. “Everyone acted like it was dangerous around here.”

“It is.” John surveyed their environment carefully, paying close attention to corners and fire escapes looming overhead. “It’s usually not this quiet.”

“This street has  _ never  _ been quiet,” Annabelle blabbered on, recalling her commute down this drag before her extended ice-nap. “There was almost  _ always  _ traffic. You could probably walk faster than driving down-”

“Get down!” John grabbed Annabelle’s arm and yanked her to the ground, behind an exceptionally large slab of lifted concrete. A loud squeak of surprise emitted from her lips as John drew his gun and took a shot at a Raider posted in the escapeway above them. Her hands trembled as she clung to the sleeve of John’s coat.

“Anne, I need that arm.” He nearly snarled, shaking her grip away and taking another shot, the ammunition hitting the male Raider near the center of his chest. Annabelle watched with saucer-sized eyes as man dropped to his knees with a loud grunt just as John took one final shot, the blow connecting with his forehead and reducing him to a pile of limp muscle. The ghoul adjusted his tricorn hat a little farther back to peer further over the concrete slab. “Shit. There’s more.”

Annabelle followed John’s gaze and gasped at the sight of two men clad in spiked armor barrelled towards them, their weapons drawn and their pace quick. “This’ll be fun!” One of them taunted, waving his blood soaked baseball bat above his head. The other was reloading his rusted pipe pistol as he ran.

“Don’t move.” John growled in her ear, sending a chill down her spine. She sank lower behind the slab as her companion rose from their cover, charging towards the hostiles with determination. 

From her fetal position she could hear John’s shotgun fire, a few rounds of the Raider’s pistol following suit. She winced at the sound of the wooden bat making contact with something solid, the familiar sound of John’s groan immediately after not providing any comfort. She wanted to peer over and see what was going on. She wanted to help. To do  _ something.  _ But it was as if she was in that cryo chamber once more, frozen in place behind the makeshift barricade. It wasn’t until she heard another crack of bat accompanied by John’s pained moan that she felt a fire light up inside of her. 

Annabelle pulled her sniper rifle into her lap clumsily, examining the firearm frantically. She had never fired anything but a small pistol before. How was she supposed to load it? With shaky digits she positioned her index finger atop the trigger, her other hand naturally falling to the underside of the lanky barrel. Time seemed to slow as if she was in a Jet induced dream, her breathing ragged and every nerve in her body on fire.  _ You can do this. You just have to do it.  _ Another fire from the Raider’s pistol made her cringe.  _ Protect him. He protects you. Just remember what Fahrenheit taught you.  _ Annabelle swallowed, her throat dryer than her mother’s alcohol cabinet.  _ One, two, th- _

An overwhelming amount of force exerted onto the opposite end of the concrete slab she was crouched behind, the already unstable structure lifting suddenly on her end. She didn’t even try to hide the gasp of surprise that flew from her mouth as her body leaped nearly a foot into the air. She could hear heavy breathing behind the slab nearly in time with her soft wheezes, her entire body violently trembling in fear. Was John dead? Was she next? She couldn’t find her voice to call out to him.  _ I wish you were here right now, Jay- _

“Anne, honey? You alright?” Like an angel straight from heaven itself her companion was suddenly in her line of vision, kneeled before her with his weapon abandoned at his foot of his tattered boots. She should really re-sole those shoes. She wondered how much longer they would hold out. “Say somethin’, Anne, lemme know you’re alright.”

His hands were on her now, trying to pry the rifle from her grip. Her knuckles were sheet white from holding the gun so tightly. Annabelle didn’t even know if the gun was loaded and posed a threat, but it seemed John didn’t want to take any chances. After a moment he finally freed the weapon from her grasp, setting it next to his own weapon carefully. Her stare gravitated towards the discarded firearms atop a few pieces of rubble, studying them as if she was having an exam on the subject tomorrow morning. 

“Annabelle,” John’s voice brought her attention back to his face, his dark eyes trained on her. How did his gaze feel so warm and inviting when they were nearly darkened over? It was a puzzling concept for Annabelle, one she didn’t think she would ever understand. She wondered how they looked when the sun had set, reflecting the colors of the sky back at her. How they looked in candlelight, their bodies pressed close together with his arms around her. How they looked when they pulled away from a kiss, his lazy grin spread across his weathered feature as he stroked her cheek… “Please talk to me.”

She wanted to tell him. Tell him about the strong feelings she had felt for him from damn near the second she woke up in the Old State House with him at her side. How she awoke every day while she was out of commision excited for their daily conversations about anything and everything. How much she missed him when he was gone for that week. How she’d completely and utterly fallen for him, all of him, and didn’t want to feel this way about any other man as long as she lived. But Annabelle had never been good with her words, unless it had something to do with American history. When it came to talking about her feelings, she shared a similar communication ability as a feral ghoul. So, instead, she said the first thing that came to her mind.

“I like how our guns look together.” She blurted out, her face as red as a tato.  _ What the hell does that even mean?  _ She screamed in her head, wanting to disintegrate into the concrete she sat against.  _ That didn’t even make any sense. How can you compare your love for someone with  _ guns?!

John’s thin lips spread into a toothy grin, his head falling a bit as he chuckled good-naturedly. He glanced at the guns next to him with a turn of his head, Annabelle watching his every move with a terrified stare. “S’pose they do, huh?” He adjusted his hat. “Like they were made for eachother.”

Annabelle laughed nervously, sounding more forced than anything. “Yeah.” Was all she could muster up. Her throat was closed up tighter than the time she had accidentally eaten peanuts in high school. 

“Y’sure you’re alright?”

She didn’t respond at first, attempting to collect her thoughts before articulating a reply. After a moment she spoke. “As long as you’re out here with me, I think I’ll be alright.”

Annabelle honestly could not read the expression etched onto John’s face. It was one she hadn’t seen from him yet. Was it...uncertainty? Doubt? Confusion? Before she could figure it out the expression had melted away, replaced by that same cocky demeanor she had always known. “Ain’t goin anywhere, Anne.” He rose from his crouch and reached for her hand, smirking down at her. “C’mon, we got a vaultie to catch.”

 

~

 

As the duo traveled the abandoned streets of downtown Boston the vault dweller was slowly getting used to dealing with hostiles. Well, she wouldn’t exactly deal with them. She had just learned how to duck and cover more quickly while John took care of the threat. She had yet to fire her rifle, but she took comfort with at least having the option to fire if necessary. Though she didn’t even know if she would be capable of shooting anything when the time came. 

While she was slightly worried about John growing tired of always taking point in the fight she soon got the vibe that he was perfectly content with taking charge while Annabelle sat on the sidelines. It made it so he could keep track of her easier, so he could keep his peripheral vision on her at all times even when he was occupied with a Raider. And he’d be lying if he didn’t get high off of the look she always gave him after he’d reduced the hostiles to a heap on the ground. Her sky blue eyes would look at him as if he were the only thing that mattered in her world, the one thing that could protect her in this big bad Wasteland. Even though he was sure that it was only because he was the only person she could trust to watch her back out here, he couldn’t help but get his hopes up that maybe it held a deeper meaning. 

At one point John realized that Annabelle had never asked where they were heading. After he had slain a particularly nasty feral mutt that had crawled out of the ruins and Annabelle emerged from her hiding spot in a nearby ruined building, he spoke up. 

“So I gotta ask,” they were walking close again, her arm nearly grazing his as they swung at her side. “Do you know where we’re goin’?”

“Hmm?”

“We’ve been travelin’ for a few hours now, and you have no idea where I’m takin’ you.’” John repeated, raising a non-existent eyebrow in her direction.

Annabelle shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess you’re right.”

“That doesn’t scare you?”

“I trust you.”

“I just feel like you’re one to lose control when y’don’t know exactly what’s goin’ on.” John teased, nudging her playfully.

“Usually I am,” she ran a hand through her blonde hair, the ghoul watching her every move intently. He wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers through those locks. He thought about it too often. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel safe with you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and chuckled. “Damn, Anne, y’sure know how to make an old ghoul blush.”

“Oh, shut up, I’m older than you.” She punched him lightly in the arm, laughter bubbling freely from her lips. “By a good 200 years, actually.”

“Ya don’t look it, that’s for sure.”

The blush that spread across her cheeks was quite possibly the most adorable thing John had ever witnessed. She turned her head shyly and giggled. “So, y-you gonna tell me where you’re taking me or not?”

John grinned, allowing her to change the subject. This time. “Ever heard of Diamond City?”

“Can’t say I have.” She adjusted the rifle on her back. “The only places I’ve ever visited post-nuclear devastation is Sanctuary Hills and Goodneighbor.”

“The ‘Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth,’” he quoted the widely known nickname for the settlement. “The biggest settlement in this shithole. Most distinguishable by it’s huge-ass green walls and intense security.”

“Wait, huge green walls…” Annabelle pieced it together, glancing up at him to raise a brow in his direction. “You don’t mean Fenway Park, do you?”

“If you’re talkin’ about the giant baseball field in the middle of the city, yes.” Both of her eyebrows were raised now. “Place held up pretty well after the war.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Annabelle shook her head in disbelief. “I thought that stadium would have been long gone.”

“Not quite.” They took a left turn and suddenly it stood before them. The character forrest-green walls towered above them in all it’s glory. Annabelle could practically see the crowds of families that once gathered around its walls, the sea of red and white that fill the streets and the “Red Sox” chants that would echo clear to her home in Sanctuary. Annabelle whistled, clearly impressed.

“‘The Green Monster,’” she chuckled quietly.

“What?”  
“That used to be Fenway’s nickname back in the day.” She reminisced vocally, attracting John’s attention. “I’ve never been much of a sports fan, but I’d be lying if I said the games held here weren’t a good time.”

“And now it’s a city in itself.”

“I’m kind of excited to see this place.” They passed underneath a makeshift guard tower, the stares given by the Diamond City security patrollers making John’s skin crawl. Annabelle seemed blissfully oblivious of their judgement towards his condition. “Is this where the other survivor is supposed to be?”

“Maybe.” John replied, his eyes trained on the security guard watching him awful closely to their right. He hated this place. Hated being around it, hated hearing about it. Most of all, the mere thought of being in the same vicinity as Bill McDonough irritated him to the fullest extent. He could practically smell his bigot ass from the outside of the walls. 

By the time they had made their way around the corner, nearly every security patrolman outside the wall had collected near the front gate, their guns drawn and ready to take action. The gate was pulled up like it always was, all open and inviting until the wrong person walked through. And John knew good and well how unwelcome his kind was here. Annabelle charged right up to the entrance and passed underneath the gate, blissfully unaware at the loss of her companion outside. “Come out and lemme know if she’s in there.” He called to her, his distant voice halting her movements and causing her head to spin around.

“Why aren’t you coming?” Her voice sounded so small. 

“Can’t, sweetheart,” he smirked sadly, nodding towards a bench planted in front of the rusted statue near the middle of the courtyard. “You’re safe in there. Y’don’t need me. I’ll be on this bench right here.”

She shook her head firmly. “I’m not going in there if you aren’t.”

“Annabelle-”

“ _ Please?”  _ She was begging him now, her eyes softening and her lower lip quivering slightly. God  _ damn,  _ if it wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He bit his lower lip and thanked God that she wasn’t close enough to hear how quickly he was breathing. 

“I can’t, Anne.” He sighed, trying desperately to look in any other direction. 

“Why not? They’ve never seen a cosplaying zombie before?”

John couldn’t help but smile at that. She had to explain to him what the term “cosplay” meant when she had first used it a few weeks ago. Apparently it referred to someone who dressed up as a character from any realm of reality or fiction. He never thought his weird resurrection of a dead political leader had a term. “Oh, they’ve seen it before. They just don’t want to see it in their little settlement.”

Annabelle paused for a moment, her gaze floating towards the guards surrounding the walls. She understood now. And she was not having it. Her small body charged towards him with purpose, her arms stiff at her side as she strutted towards him. The way her hips moved in that tight vault suit would haunt his dreams for as long as he lived. When the distance was closed she reached out and grabbed his hand, dragging him behind her through the gates of the Great Green Jewel herself. He tugged back a little on her grip and chuckled genuinely.

“Anne, honey-”

“If you think I’m gonna sit here and let these  _ bigots _ walk all over you because of who you are, you don’t know me.”

“Anne,” he locked eyes with the chief of security (was his name Sullivan?) who had emerged from his post behind the dingy front counter with his shotgun drawn. “Y’don’t understand, they have rules here-”

“Fuck them.” She spat, taking John by surprise. He’d never heard her curse in his time of knowing her, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on. Plus the fact she was entwining their fingers together like he was her lifeline was not helping. He licked his lips as he admired the fantastic view he had from behind. “If they’re going to be that way, honestly,  _ fuck  _ them.”

The head dick in charge opened his mouth to spout something smart off before Annabelle cut him off. 

“You have something to say? You say it to  _ me.”  _ She practically snarled at him, tugging John that much closer to her body. He didn’t stop her, watching this new side of Annabelle light up Sullivan’s ass with a hungry stare. “I don’t  _ care  _ what your policies are here. And honestly, I couldn’t give less of a shit if I tried. Just know if you fuck with him,” she used her free hand to spin her rifle to hang against her stomach. “You fuck with  _ me _ .”

One of the guards posted against a pillar near the counter stepped up towards them but Sullivan stopped him with the extension of his arm. John braced himself for an all-out brawl but instead Sullivan nodded towards the chainlink gate that lead into the city.

“Don’t make me regret this.” He justified lowly, eyeing the both of them for another moment before turning back towards his post, his fellow security officer following his lead resentfully.

The duo exchanged glances before hurrying towards the gate, their fingers still entwined to John’s enjoyment. “You and I both know y’can’t do shit with that gun,” he teased, pulling open the gate with a smirk.

“Yeah, but they don’t need to know that.” The blonde wink, both erupting into a fit of laughter before entering Diamond City.


End file.
